Not Like You Think
by GrandmaSophie
Summary: After 16 years of hell, Clove finally gets to prove her worth to her father, and everyone in District 2, that she's not as weak as she looks.
1. Chapter 1

'Ladies first!' The shrill voice of the escort, Masalyne, rings out through the square. Watching from the 15 year old area, brown eyes follow with determination, as the Capitol woman fishes around in the bowl for a small, rectangular piece of paper. Masalyne waddles back in front of the microphone and unfolds the paper with her pale orange gloves.

'Amabel Stone,'

Before the girl could even blink, two voices rang out from the girls section. The girl everyone knew to be volunteering this year, Pippa Goldberg, and another that no one really paid much attention to, Clove Kentwell.

Both girls stepped out into the walkway between the girls and boys sections, and glared at each other. Pippa moved forward to Clove, meaning to punch the girl out, or something worse, before an ear splitting scream tore out of her mouth. She collapsed to the ground, a knife that was once in Clove's boot now embedded in her knee. Clove surveyed Pippa for a second, pleased, before turning and headed towards the stage, where Masalyne looked appalled, and a little bit frightened.

'What's your name, dear?' Masalyne's now less chirpy voice queried.

'Clove Kentwell,' she said with a hint of smugness as she watched Pippa being carried away by two medics, the knife still lodged in her kneecap. A low murmur had started up in the crowd as Clove had walked towards the stage, and kept going as District 2's escort sought for a name in the boys reaping bowl.

A name Clove didn't hear rang through the speakers in the square. She didn't need to hear it because she already knew who was volunteering from the boys; whoever was reaped was redundant. A cocky, blonde haired 18 year old strode up beside Masalyne and gave his name: Cato Hadley.

After making them shake hands, Masalyne guided Clove and Cato towards the Justice building and ushered them into separate rooms so family members and close friends could say a final goodbye. The room was very nice, with its soft green wallpaper and wooden floor covered with a black and white carpet that perfectly complimented each other. Walking around the obviously expensive furniture that littered the room, Clove sat down on the pale green couch under a heavily curtained window and stared playing with a knife that she hid in the waistband of her red dress.

The door opened and Clove contemplated throwing the knife at her father as he strode in. Dillon Kentwell was the Victor of the 67th Hunger Games, and wasn't happy when his wife gave birth to a girl instead of a boy; even more so when Corin Kentwell died after having said girl. He had shunned Clove from a young age, and when she "accidently" fell from the second floor balcony at age 5, which had angered her father greatly that she had only come away with a head wound, not anything worse. Thinking about it, it appeared to ascertain why Clove is how she is, and why she volunteered for the Games.

Clove refused to even acknowledge that her father was in the room. She ignored the lecture he gave her, something about deserving this and hoping she ever came back, before stalking out of the room. As the door closed, Clove leaned back on the couch, not expecting any more visitors, so when the door opened; she was astounded, especially when she saw who it was.

Pippa Goldberg entered the room, a Peacekeeper holding the door open as she limped into the room on crutches. Clove looked at her dubiously as the girl leaned on the table by the door.

'I didn't think they'd let you out so soon,' Clove said, breaking the silence.

'I persuaded them,' Pippa smiled half-heartedly, making Clove smile a little as well. After a silence, Clove spoke up again.

'So, what are you doing here?' Clove was genuinely curious as to why Pippa was here. Unless it was to rip Clove's throat out, that is.

'I just came to say good luck,' Pippa said quietly, 'even though I was meant to go. I reckon you're gonna need it, especially if you're up against Cato and whoever was chosen from the other Districts.'

'Well, I'm sure I can handle myself against a coalminer,' Clove said, unamused. What in the world made Pippa think that Clove couldn't handle herself in the Games? Was it because she was so small that Pippa thought she could be killed by a 12 year old? Whatever the reason was, she hoped that everyone else thought that so she could throw a knife into their skulls.

'Times up,' said a gruff voice from the door. Pippa got up from the table and limped out of the room, but turned around at the last second to wish Clove good luck. Clove nodded at her, and she was alone in the room once again.

When visiting time was up, Clove was lying on the couch, absently staring at the roof when the door opened and a Peacekeeper came in and tugged her off the couch and into the hallway with Masalyne and Cato. Escorted by a group of Peacekeepers, the trio was lead out of the Justice building towards the train station, where reporters buzzed, all wanting to get shots of the District 2 tributes before everyone else.

Clove and Cato were battered by questions, the shouts from the reporters all blurred together, so it was impossible to actually hear what they were asking. Not that it mattered as Cato was smiling broadly at the cameras, his cocksure smile and attitude captivating the audience. Clove, on the other hand, was done with the reporters and the flashing of the cameras and just wanted to get on the train. She was sure that if the Peacekeeper hadn't taken her knife off her when they left the Justice building, she would've thrown it at a reporter by now. By the time they'd gotten to the train, Clove was sure that she could see the murderous glint in Cato's eye, the same one he got when he was really getting into training, even through the confidence that he was sure the cameras picked up on. He was as done as she was. It was certainly a relief when Masalyne stepped through the door and it slid shut with a soft hiss.


	2. Chapter 2

To say that this was the most extravagant place Clove had ever seen would be an understatement. A large crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the dining cart, throwing a soft light over the most delicious, and strange looking, selection of foods and beverages. Royal blue arm chairs sat to the end of the cart, facing a loveseat of the same colour, seating two people that Clove instantly recognised. She couldn't say that she was upset to see them, but she couldn't say she was happy, either.

'Brutus, Enobaria,' Cato nodded as he sat down on, much to Clove's disgust, the loveseat.

'Good to see you again, Cato, Clove,' Enobaria smiled, her pointy teeth shining slightly in the light from the chandelier. After winning the 62nd Hunger Games by ripping the throat out of another tribute, President Snow made her surgically alter her teeth into sharp points.

Cato smiled back at her, all charms and smiles that he was, but Clove just sat down, bored and frustrated. They talked for a bit, Clove not really paying much attention to what was being said, nodding in the right places, about what they might be up against in the Arena. All Clove really wanted at this point was to be in the Training Centre throwing knives at the dummies, or maybe at someone in the room. _Just a little longer_, she thought, _then you can go to your own cart. _Soon, the conversation slowly died, and Clove took her chance to escape to her room.

The door slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing her away from everyone; she only wished the door had a lock of some sort. Clove paced the length of her room for a while, restless, before flopping down on her bed and sighing.

Bored; so, so, bored.

Lucky they didn't spend more than a day on the train to the Capitol, so only a few hours she had to suffer with these people in an enclosed space. What could she waste a couple of hours on? Her usual option was going out to the abandoned stone mine and practicing with her knives, but that didn't seem like a plausible option at this time. Going out to talk to people was most certainly not a feasible idea. Taking a nap seemed like the best one, so she decided to do just that. She kicked her flats off and let her black hair out of the bun, falling and settling around the waistband of her dress, before curling up and closing her eyes.

A horrible screeching noise broke though Clove's dreams, and when she opened her eyes she discovered that Masalyne was the source. Clove blocked out what the escort was saying and stretched out like a cat, then getting off the bed and pushing her way past Masalyne to the bathroom and locking the door.

Thankfully for Clove, the door muffled whatever was being shouted at her. She would most likely pay for this at some point, but she didn't really care. Turning her attention to the mirror, she couldn't help but noticed how bad she looked. Honestly, Clove didn't care, but she knew looks mattered as soon as she stepped off the train; how she looked was vital for her survival in the Games. And the fact that her hair looked like she'd been dragged backwards though the streets and her face was still slightly puffy from sleep didn't exactly help her situation.

She brushed whatever tangles she could out of her hair, before fixing it back in a bun, and washed her face, which mostly got rid of the puffiness. It didn't really bother her anyway because in a few minutes she'd be on a table as a group of ridiculous Capitol people would be "fixing" her in preparation for the Tributes Parade. She wasn't looking forward to it at all, but she knew this when she volunteered, so really she brought it on herself. After looking herself over once more, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress and fixing her hair a bit, she unlocked and opened the door straight into Masalyne's onslaught.

Something about manners, tardiness and appearance Masalyne was yelling at her and she joined everyone in the dining cart. Cato thought it was hilarious, at least the grin he was trying to hide on his face told Clove. She just adopted a scowl and sat down in one of the chairs, trying to block out Masalyne's barrage of meaningless words.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the train finally pulled up in the station. Cato was at the window, waving and grinning at the crowd, something about sponsors and whatnot. Clove stayed seated until they were told to get off, for which Clove was first at the door to enter the station. As they stepped off the train into the cheering mass of bright colours, Clove managed to smile and wave to the Capitol airheads as they made their way into the main building where they would be staying in the weeks before the Games.

The smile was instantly replaced by Clove's trademark scowl as the doors closed behind them. Masalyne chirped something about the two of them making a "decent enough impression" on the crowd, and quickly went on to saying something else. Clove had stopped paying attention a while ago, so when she heard Enobaria voice, she figured what she was saying would be important.

'…your stylist who will be working with you right up until you go into the Arena. They will be designing your outfits for the parade later and the interviews when it comes time, so remember to say thank you, alright?'

Clove couldn't help but wonder if that last sentence was aimed at her or not, but she didn't have much time to wonder as three brightly coloured cyclones brisked her off to a different part of the building, commenting about how they had their work cut out for them. Clove could only tell that what was going to happen next would be so much fun…


End file.
